Renegade

1. Rachel

1. Rachel

Family... Family is the most important thing you will ever have.

This became abundantly clear when my parents died in a horrible, freak car accident, leaving me and my two younger sisters alone in the world. My sisters, Carter and Zoey, were the only things I had left, and, at six years old, I knew I had to do everything in my power to protect them, cherish them.

We had no Aunts or Uncles, our grandparents wanted nothing to do with us, revoking their privileges to us and we became lost in the system. Foster home after foster home, no one seemed willing to take us. Part of the problem was I refused to go without either of my sisters, or allow one of them to go. I was headstrong, and, in my mind, it was either the three of us go, or none of us at all. I would kick, scream, bite and fight any adult that told me otherwise... I would not be separated from the only family I had left.

Zoey was barely two by the time she got really sick. I had just turned seven, Carter was five, and neither of us knew how to help our baby sister. That was when some overindulged, rich folks came knocking at the door. I'll be damned if they didn't pick Zoey out immediately. Of course, they took one look at Carter and I, curling their lips in disgust while we returned the same look as they held our sister, inspecting her like she was some kind of Nobel Prize or show dog. The home informed them that Zoey was sick, and I had hoped it would sway their decision.

It didn't.

I started to put up a fight, my usual routine, but one of the caretakers pinned me down and said that if I didn't let Zoey go, she would most likely never get the medication she needed to feel better, that her adoptive parents could give her more than the orphanage, or I could ever give her. It was a startling fact, one that caused me to genuinely weep. I was only a child, and the realization that I didn't have the power to heal my sister shook me to the core.

Knowing that, I reluctantly let go. I vowed to never forget the look on Zoey's new parents' faces, and in a small, yet powerful voice, I swore to them I would find her when I was of age. I would take my Zoey back, and we would be a family again. Looking back, it sounded as if I was exacting my revenge, but I meant it. I would find her.

Carter and I were finally adopted by the time I turned twelve, she was ten. The family was middle-class, and nice enough, but her and I had an unspoken understanding with one another; we knew what our end goal was, and we knew those people were not our family. They were just as temporary as the women in those Foster Homes, and orphanages; people who fed us and gave us shelter.

When I got my first job at sixteen, I worked as many hours as I could and busted my ass to prove myself. In my head, I was counting the days to my eighteenth birthday, and I wanted to have enough money to support Carter and myself, find Zoey and support her too. I was determined, so much so that I dropped out of school to work even more, stacking my plate high.

There were a few setbacks, our adoptive parents unaccepting of Carter moving out before she was eighteen. It was the most explosive argument I'd ever witnessed, and only I was able to talk her down. I promised her I would stay, continue saving up money until we could move out together, and we did.

It wasn't easy, but we felt free to live our own lives. We both worked full time, and were always able to pay our rent on time. Our apartment was in the center of Kansas City, and we were able to walk to our jobs- sometimes we even had cash to spare to eat out, sparing us from our usual ramen noodles or baked beans.

Things were working in our favor, we were the best of friends, but we knew there was still a piece missing... Zoey.

When I called the Foster home to acquire the records, I was informed that the building had succumbed to a horrible fire, and burned all the records. No last name, no adoption agencies, even Zoey's birth certificate had been burned. I remembered my heart sinking, my mind racing for another option.